


Fear

by Jillfox221



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Discipline, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28381794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jillfox221/pseuds/Jillfox221
Summary: Holmes being a manipulative bastard and Watson responding accordingly.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Fear

Fear, that is what I see in his eyes. For the first time in my association with the great detective, I see panic and fear. Its manifestation does not last long, no longer than it takes for him to register my presence and the levelling of my gun. Nevertheless, it is there and it makes my blood boil.

The sound of my shot rings out in the damp still air, and the scoundrel, who dared level the barrel of his own weapon at my companions temple drops with a sharp cry to the pavement. His gun, discarded in favour of clutching at his mangled shoulder. The barrel of my pistol tracks him to the ground. Breathing deeply I attempt to calm myself, I have no good reason to discharge another shot, but oh how much I desire too. I am never more thankful for the hand that firmly grips my shoulder. That I have employed the services of Lestrade and his men to aid me in tracking Holmes is fortunate indeed, for they quickly remove the grovelling man from my sight, had they not I was at great risk of having my restraint snap.

My vision falls back to Holmes, battered and bruised he stands gasping, still struggling to recover his composure after what has been a battle for his very life. His eyes lock once again with mine and to my great disgust I spot the beginnings of a smirk start to form on his lips.

“Watson, your timing is –

“Don’t!” I cut him off before he stokes my temper. To my surprise he holds his tongue, his brilliant mind no doubt deducing he is on dangerous ground, although the quirk of an eyebrow informs me he is still, as of yet, unsure why.

“How many times, Holmes? How many?” I demand.

He makes to reply, but I forestall it with a tilt of my head and the raising of my cane to point at him accusingly. “If I had not found you, had I been mere seconds later...” I left the sentence hanging; let the pain in my voice speak for itself. He makes as if to move towards me but I refuse to let him take control of this confrontation. Moving quickly I close the space between us, securing my cane under my arm I take a hold of his wrist and slap the pistol I still hold in a death grip into his palm. His fingers close around the metal and without even a glance at it; I know that he now understands.

“Watson,” Holmes starts, no doubt attempting to defend himself. I squeeze his wrist in warning but it does not forestall his argument. “Contrary to what you are thinking, I can assure you my error was an innocent mistake. Merely a brief episode of forgetfulness.” He pauses, and shifts slightly, gaze drifting to where my hand still holds him. “I can assure you that – He winces slightly as my fingers tighten around his delicate bones. “Do not play me for a fool Holmes,” I hiss, I am trying hard to control the volume of my voice as we are still being observed by the yards finest. “You never do anything without reason and this is a game you have played far too often.”

His gaze snaps back to mine, a slight flush rising on his cheeks. “Confound it Watson, will you not listen to me.” His voice is raised and attracts wary looks from our unfortunate audience.

Jerking him closer I fight to keep my own voice level, “It is you who fails to listen Holmes, you appear to either not have heard my previous warnings, or have chosen to ignore them.”

My words quietly spoken none the less hit their mark and the flush recedes from my friends face to leave it deathly pale. In a tone that is both soft and wary he stutters, “I...I don’t...you can not seriously believe that I would allow you – 

“What makes you think I’m going to give you a choice,” I snap at him. His eyes widen and his breath comes in short rasps as he ponders that remark. “You need to understand that I will no longer tolerate you putting yourself in unnecessary danger.”

“My work! – He blurts out, indignation starting to creep back into his tone

Suddenly requiring space between us, I let go of him. He takes a step back and I see his hand flex, the impression of my fingers still clearly branded on his wrist. “Your work is dangerous indeed, I understand and except this and will do as much as I am able to aid you.” My voice is rising despite my best efforts. “I cannot however be by your side every time you ask. I have my own responsibilities Holmes,” I look at him pleadingly, desperate for him to understand, desperate for him to see how much his uncaring attitude hurts me. “Responsibilities that cannot be put aside every time you decide that you want...” I pause, my own breath now ragged, and correct myself, “...that you need me.”

“John.” His use of my given name would normally warm my heart, but here, now, I only register it as a cheap ploy to try to calm me.

“Don’t.” I growl, my control wearing thin. I see him recognise his error as he takes another step back from me. “Forcing my attention by proceeding into these situations unarmed is underhanded, for you know that I will always follow you.” The truth of this we both know. “That you will always win this game I cannot change, for I would surely run mad should I not follow you and the worst happen.” I feel a pang of regret as he takes another step away from me, from the strength of my emotions. “I can however give you more attention than you were bargaining for.” Another step. One more push and he will run from me. For the best I think. We both need to calm and escape to a more private location. “Maybe then you will think twice.” His eyes flash and with that he turns tale and runs.

*

I make my way back to Baker Street slowly, choosing to walk rather than hail a cab; I need the time to think. The cooling air of early evening in April draws the heat from my temper, and I feel a calm resolve fortify my stride. I am already settled on the course of action I must take, as I have already given Holmes a detailed warning, one that left him flushed and indignant, I feel obliged to not disappoint him.

*

I cannot say that I am surprised, but I will admit to a little disappointment as I enter our empty rooms. I wish to have this over and done with as swiftly as possible, for I do not like being truly at odds with my friend. Yes, we bicker and fight as if a wedded couple, but we both enjoy the battle of wills. The outcome of this confrontation however is much too important for me to tackle in anything less than a serious manner. With a drawn out sigh I make my way over to the decanter, my fingers already working at my collar.

Having discarded the material confines of polite society I settle down into what is considered to be my chair, for Holmes most definitely has what he considers to be his chair, and woe betide anyone else who goes within three feet of it. I have resigned myself to a long wait and I see no reason not to be comfortable while I pass the time. It is with some surprise then that I hear a noise not half an hour later. What is even more surprising is that it does not come from the direction I am expecting, not from below, but from above. There is most definitely someone upstairs and I can only think of one person that it can be.

*

Opening the door to my room I stop short at the sight that greets me, standing in front of the window is Holmes, his silhouetted form unmistakable to me. Stripped of jacket and waistcoat and with braces hanging loose at his sides he strikes a pensive figure, back rigid, staring off into the distance. However, it is not his state of dress that causes me to pause, but what he holds in his hands. Long elegant fingers play impatiently along supple black leather; he holds his hunting crop, flexing its length behind his back as though already anticipating its sting.

His lack of reaction to my entrance indicates to me how deep my companion’s emotions are running at present, under normal circumstances I would be lucky to make it through the front door without being noticed. Watching closely I let the door fall to a close behind me, the reaction I witness sorely tests my resolve to treat the situation with the seriousness it disserves. Holmes taken by surprise is a remarkable sight, spinning on the spot too fast for his feet to keep up has him crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs, his embarrassment at being caught off guard colours his face a brilliant scarlet and his lips twist in indignation. Biting my lip, I force myself to maintain a stern visage.

Righting himself quickly he stands before me the image of a penitent boy, head bowed, eyes glancing up through long lashes. He now holds the crop in front, clasped to his chest, in a pose that speaks to his reluctance to give it up. I hold my tongue intrigued to hear how Holmes intends to play this, I do not intend to use the crop to chastise him and I do not believe that he would suggest it unless he is attempting to further manipulate me.

In a voice tinged not with contrition and remorse but with crisp superiority, he addresses me. “Watson, thank goodness you are finally hear, I was beginning to think you were never going to come up.” Bristling at his tone, I attempt to respond but am rudely cut off as Holmes ploughs on heedless of my ire. “You really must pay more attention to your surroundings old boy. I left my Jacket downstairs in a clear indication of my return and your failure to notice really is a concern as I am sure I have taught you better.” Eyebrow twitching I find that I no longer need to force an expression of stern reprimand, he is treading dangerously on my nerves and I intend to inform him of this, unfortunately he does not pause for even the shortest breath before continuing. “You really must learn to pay more attention. But never mind,” I fight down the urge to reach out and strangle him, “I believe it would be best to get this unpleasantness cleared up between us as swiftly as possible.”

That said he thrusts the crop out towards me practically smacking me in the chest with it. I take it reflexively, shocked at his behaviour. Once devoid of the crop he all but stomps over to my bed and bending at the waist throws himself on to it with a dramatic air of self-sacrifice.

If the blood in my veins were not pumping so violently I would surely find the performance playing out before me comical, as it is I find myself incensed, striding purposefully towards him I fully intend to give him the whipping he’s challenging me for. Drawing beside him, I raise my arm and bring the crop down sharply in a practice swing to loosen my shoulder, the sound of leather cutting through air causes Holmes to cringe.

As quickly as my temper came upon me it flees, Holmes’ earlier reprimand of a lack of observance decides at this point to kick in and I find myself scrutinising the man before me: body tense, breath shallow and rapid, fingers curled tightly into the bedding and face buried, hidden from my scrutiny. It dawns on me as I study him that the challenge was not meant for me but for himself. He has taken control of this confrontation in order to limit his own emotional response.

By making me angry, he attempts to manipulate my actions and use them to his advantage. The fall of a cane, we are both unfortunately inured too, not to say that it would not have had a profound effect, just that the ordeal could be dealt with more dispassionately due to related experience. I cannot help but smile slightly as I shake my head in fond exasperation.

Undoubtedly, due to the fact that he is not currently enduring a stinging backside Holmes turns his face to look up at me, a calculating yet wary look in his eyes. Schooling my features once again, I decide to take back control. “Nice try old boy but I’m afraid you’ve taught me too well.” Frustration at being discovered starts to show on his face, which only increases as I toss the crop aside. “I’m afraid that you’re going to be very sorry for your failed efforts by the time I’m through with you.” With this warning, I drop down to sit next to him on the bed and without leaving him time to react take a firm grip of his legs and pull him sharply across my lap.

The shock of his new position stuns him momentarily, giving me the opportunity to snake my arm around his waist. “Watson! You must stop this foolishness immediately.” The superior tone is back and I find that I am not of a mind to tolerate it any longer. “I demand that you let go of me this inst – The sound is sharp and clear and drowns out Holmes’ tirade, the abruptness shocks both of us, though to the one on the receiving end of its cause I dare say it was more shocking. The sudden tensing of muscles and exhale of breath indicates that the experience was much more profound for one Sherlock Holmes.

Turning awkwardly to look back at me over his shoulder Holmes struggles to form his accusation, stumbling over words that are strangled by his belligerence. “You...spa – ...st...struck me. You...I cannot believe that you...you sp – ...hit me.” I cannot prevent the small smile that plays on my lips at my companion’s inability to utter the word spank. As he informed me, while I delivered my warning after the last incident, the word and action it foretells is far too childish for my friend to contemplate happening to him. “Spank, Holmes. I just spanked you. Believe me when I tell you it was just one of many that are to follow.” Having said that I raise my hand once more and set about the task at hand. Teaching Holmes a well deserved lesson.

My hand falls repeatedly upon twisting buttocks eliciting sharp rebukes from Holmes. “Watson! Damn it man, cease this unwarranted action immediately!” is one of many cries I choose to ignore. If I had thought that Holmes would behave with a modicum of decorum during these proceedings, I was proved to be sorely wrong. He flails about like a fish out of water, almost slipping my grasp on several occasions. 

If he does not stop this nonsense soon I fear he will draw attention from outside quarters, and that would prove most awkward. As it is, I am certain that Mrs Hudson must have heard the commotion occurring within her domain, being an astute woman she has no doubt deduced the nature of the disturbance and has chosen to ignore us. I remind myself to purchase our good landlady some flowers. “Watson! I demand you stop this instant.” With this latest outburst he practically bounces on my lap, his weight bears down across my legs causing my old wound to twinge sharply and my patience snaps.

“Get up. Now!” I growl and give him a firm shove.

Slipping from my knees, he stands before me, a vicious scowl gracing his features. His hands instantly seek out his smarting behind and he rubs vigorously in an attempt to relieve the sting. “Finally you come to your senses,” he scolds. Incensed I reach out, take a hold of him by the waistband of his trousers, and jerk him close to me. Pinning him with my own fiery glare I dash his hopes, “Do not think that I am through with you Holmes. I have not yet started.” He stills then for a moment staring down at me with wide eyes, breath held. As my fingers move to the clasps and buttons that protect his dignity, Holmes regains his composure enough to grasp at my wrists halting my progress.

“Please Watson, don’t do this,” he begs. A rarity in itself.

“You deserve no less Holmes. Have you any idea of what you’ve put me through?” Taking a deep breath, I focus on my hands, held by his, and attempt to keep calm and not scream at him. “I am scared Holmes, scared that you have so little regard for yourself that...” I cannot fully express my concerns, I dare not give voice to the many possibilities, less there utterance give them form. The undiluted fear that struck me earlier surges once again through my veins and I have to clamp down hard on my breath to forestall the sob that rises in my throat.

Some way, somehow I must make this brilliant, glorious man before me think, and care, about himself. I try to extract myself from Holmes’ grip but his strength is one thing I have never bested, despite my superior build.

Risking being swayed by his expressive eyes I direct my own gaze back up, and what I find...oh. “Watson, I...I am ashamed to say that I did not once think of the pain that I would cause you with my actions, I mean...that is to say..I did think of you, your presence was...is and always will be my goal.” He looks at me pleadingly, desperate that I understand him fully. “I mean...that is to say, I know you despise manipulation...and I will refrain from...well...attempt to refrain from...”

He is growing frustrated by his inability to express himself clearly. “Damn it Watson! I need you. Can you not see how much I need you?”

His hands release mine in favour of tangling in his hair, pulling at the long strands fretfully. My own hands slip round to his waist and I find myself rubbing his flanks, attempting to soothe him. “I understand Holmes,” I whisper. Moreover, I do, I understand. The words unsaid, they are the same words that stick in my own throat, the mores of society stifling them before they escape the confines of my heart. “I understand.” Holmes looks down at me with such hope it steals my breath away.

Unsure on how to proceed my anger and resolve having waned, I am once more stunned when Holmes allows his own hands to fall to the clasps I myself had been so determined to reach. Quick nimble fingers make short work of their confining influence, but then stutter to a halt, unwilling or unable to finish their task. Giving Holmes a reassuring smile, I take over the task and gently, but firmly, draw down his trousers and undergarments. Holmes, face flushed, offers little resistance as I lead him once again over my lap.

Snaking my arm back around his slight waist I line up my target once more. Holmes shifts slightly, wriggling his hips in anticipation but otherwise remains compliant. Taking a breath, I raise my hand and bring it back down sharply on the faintly blushing cheeks presented to me. The sound created is crisper, louder than before and makes us both flinch. “Watson, this really isn’t necessary. I promise to take more care.” Far from pleading there is a noticeable whine to Holmes’ tone, some of his earlier petulance reasserting itself.

“Really?” I respond as I ghost my hand over its twin imprinted on his flesh. “You promise not to manipulate me in the future?” He is looking back at me now, “I promise...to take better care.” The slight pause is what firms my resolve and I bring my hand down once more. “You promise to take more care in not getting caught.” It is not a question and I forestall any argument from my prone friend with another sharp slap. He gasps at the sting and averts his eyes from my knowing gaze. If nothing else, his continuing attempts at manipulation remind me of why we are in this position in the first place.

With a newfound vigour, I set about turning the cheeks before me a brilliant shade of red. Each crack of my hand brings a flinch from Holmes. I expect if not a physical fight then at the very least a verbal one, so am somewhat perturbed by Holmes’ silence. Apart from the inevitable sounds of distress one would expect from someone being chastised Holmes is being unnervingly quite. Hands bunched tightly into the bedding, muscles tensed, he is as taught as one of his violin strings. He is clinging on desperately to his last threads of control, determined to rein in his emotions if nothing else. I know I cannot let him win this battle. I must break him. Only then can I be sure that he will hear me and heed me, if only for that singular moment.

My own hand smarts with the strength of the blows I am delivering, I consider removing my belt to move proceedings along at a faster pace, but dismiss the thought. Physical pain alone is not going to succeed here; it will also take my words to break through his defence. That said I am well aware of the merits of physical discomfort in sharpening ones concentration, if only to aid in escaping it all the more expediently. Concentrating my strikes to the tender underside of his buttocks, I start in on my true attack.

“Now that I am sure that I have your full attention there is one point I wish to check that you are clear on before we finish here. I am sure that your brilliant mind can tell you what that is but I will inform you anyway.

You will never, NEVER, use a threat to your safety as a means to manipulate me ever again. Do you understand me? ”

Holmes remains stubbornly silent. I let my aim slip lower catching thigh with each blow and he yelps turning to glare at me. “Each time I am required to repeat myself your legs will pay the price,” I warn him. Scrunching his eyes closed and panting he is making an obvious effort to keep his voice clear of any distress. “I unde...ah...understand.” His eyes have snapped open to glare at me once more. He obviously did not appreciate my encouragement. “That you understand I have no doubt, what I need to know is whether you will resist temptation the next time I say no to you?” I give him a few moments to respond; when no answer is forthcoming, I once again move my attention to his thighs. He kicks out violently, gasps twisting in my grasp, and finally throws a hand back to try to impede me. Snatching at the flailing appendage, I pin it to his back not letting it interrupt my attack. “STOP! Watson stop...now...I’ll...I’ll answer!” Giving him a moment to regain his breath I wait. I take the time to look him over, his face is flushed and tear tracks now mar his skin. His breath is coming in stuttered gasps and he is struggling desperately not to descend into sobs. “If I let go of your arm will you be able to control yourself?” He hiccups and hides his face in the covers, not wanting to be reminded of his loss of control. “Holmes?” I warn letting my hand rest on his left thigh. The threat is all that is needed. “Yes...yes please.”

After a few deep breaths, he manages to calm himself enough in order to address my question. “I...I cannot promise...” his voice is soft and I struggle to hear him. “That is to say...I...I will not lie to you.” He is avoiding my gaze once again, as if he fears my response. “I will try, I promise I will try.” A part of me in relieved that he has not given me a straight yes for I would not have believed him. That he has chosen to answer me truthfully rather than telling me what he thinks I want to hear is encouraging. All that I can truly hope for is that he will indeed try and hopefully the threat of future treatment such as this will help to discourage him. Reaching out I gently turn his head towards me, letting my hand drift up to card through his unruly hair. He blinks at me warily, clearly trying to deduce my mood. “Thank you,” I sigh with no small amount of relief. Holmes mirrors my sigh and some of the tension that he holds in his frame dissipates as he concludes that he made the correct choice.

I am tired, we are both tired and I find I desire a swift resolution to proceedings. Finally satisfied that my friend and companion understands what I require of him, it only remains for me to seek insurance that there is a lasting reminder. I would like very much to have at least a week of grace before ‘circumstance’ causes him to forget. With a fortifying breath, I work the buckle of my belt and draw it from my waist. My actions cause Holmes to flinch violently but to my surprise, he does not attempt to escape. “How many?” he asks me in a resigned tone as fresh tears trickle down his cheeks. The seriousness of my concern has evidently sunk in and I find that I can afford to be lenient. “Six I think,” I inform him in a tone that is equally subdued. Folding the belt in half I waste no time in putting it to use. Drawing back I bring it down swiftly on the fullest part of Holmes buttocks, the crack is loud but it is Holmes cry that causes me to jump. Pushing his face into the covers, he is panting for breath once again. The force of my blow has raised a fine welt where the edge of the belt has dug into his skin and it is my intention to add five more. The rest of the belting I deliver without pause, gradually working my way down Holmes’ buttocks until the last strike falls on the top of his thighs. Each lash has left a welt in its wake and will make sitting an uncomfortable occupation for some days to come. The sobs that Holmes had so stubbornly refused to release while I spanked him are now racking his body. Dropping the belt to the floor, I drag myself back onto the bed, careful to insure that Holmes comes with me. With now gentle hands, I pull Holmes around until he is lying atop me, head resting on my chest.

“Shh now, it’s alright, it’s over Sherlock you did well,” I murmur, well aware that I have broken through all of his mental defences and must work carefully to help him regain control. As much as I have worked hard to get him to this point, my focus now is to calm him as swiftly as possible. “Hurts,” Holmes whimpers pitifully. “I’m afraid that’s very much the object of the exercise old boy. It wouldn’t prove much of a deterrent otherwise, would it?” Holmes’ answering huff of disapproval is derailed somewhat by his still hitching breath, resulting in what can only be described as an aborted hic-cough. Sniffing dejectedly, he contents himself with clinging on tighter to my shirt, resolutely hiding his face from me. Wishing to avoid causing Holmes further distress I keep any further comments to myself and restrict my actions to gentle caresses and soothing murmurs. It is not long before the body atop me relaxes fully indicating that Holmes has found Morpheus, his slow steady breathing swiftly dragging me down into my own slumber.

I have not been asleep for long, may be an hour but no more, when Holmes shifting above me draws me to consciousness. Opening my eyes I am startled to find Holmes towering over me; his face inches from mine, his eyes wide. His gaze drills into mine pinning me, and I find my breath catch in my throat. Holmes, even in his advantages position exudes unease and apprehension, his tongue darts out to dampen dry lips and he swallows nervously.

“Holmes wha...” my inquiry is cut off by the press of a finger against my lips. Taking a deep breath Holmes forces himself to speak. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. Only two words, but said with such quite conviction. I wish to offer a reply but his finger still impedes my own lips. “I’m so very...sorry,” his voice hitches and even in the low light of the room I see him flush lightly.

Letting the fingers that still my lips glide up to caress my cheek Holmes leans in swiftly to press his mouth to mine. The kiss is soft and short lived but sweet none the less. Pulling back sharply I register the shock at his own actions as they flit across his face. He makes to move off me, shame and fear swimming in his eyes.

“Don’t,” I reach out taking a grip of his arm to halt his retreat. He stills under my hand. With great care not to startle him, I lift my other hand to run gently behind his neck and draw him back down to me. This kiss I control and make the best effort to pour all my feelings of love and affection into it. The need to breath breaks the kiss sooner than I would have liked. Holmes, eyes bright, looks down on me. “Can...can we do this?” His tone is unsure as he seeks my reassurance.

“I...I think...” my hesitancy causes Holmes to duck his head and withdraw yet again. Annoyed at my own inability to articulate my feelings I quickly snatch him back for another kiss, using actions instead of words to answer him.

This time when we break apart Holmes expression is one of hope and understanding, “Can you answer all my questions so...fully?” he asks, a hint of a smile playing across his lips.

“Do not think that this development in our relationship will alter my response to any future misbehaviour,” I warn him. My voice is stern but my eyes sparkle playfully. “I would not expect anything less,” he declares, “however, now I have a far greater range of distraction techniques at my disposal.”

Eyes widening in shock at his cheek I let the hand that still rests at his neck drop sharply to connect with his backside. The startled gasp and shift of Holmes hips sends my pulse racing.

“Don’t try to play me Holmes,” I warn, “or you will regret it.”

Not in the least cowed by my response, Holmes contents himself with arranging me back into a pillow. Once he has settled I wrap my arms around him holding him close, determined not to lose him now that I have him. As the warm thread of sleep weaves back into my bones Holmes chooses this moment to respond to my warning. “Of course I do relish a challenge,” he murmurs, and I cannot help but smile at his unwavering boldness.

The End


End file.
